


GUNDALA: The Series

by thenymphsreply



Category: Bumilangit Cinematic Universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-14
Updated: 2019-11-01
Packaged: 2020-12-16 00:56:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 7,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21027620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thenymphsreply/pseuds/thenymphsreply
Summary: Sancaka, a young man who raised himself in the capital city, struggled to fight his own compassion. An old friend once gave him the advices that he has been holding on tightly since the moment they were separated. The advice that granted him survival. With seemingly the thunder that seemed to follow him everywhere he goes, Sancaka would soon make a decision that would prove his perspective of the world.





	1. The Persistence of a Memory.

**Author's Note:**

> This series is slightly altered from the original comics and/or movies. Some aspects would be the same, while some others will be slightly different. Timeline would also be altered.

“Help! Please, anyone, help me!”

“Shut up, lady. All we ask for was the bag. Give it to us, and we’ll let you walk out of here without any scratch.”

Sancaka shook his head, not wanting to take any part of it again ——— it’s been twenty years, and it _lingers_ ; the taste of blood that stays on his tongue that drips from his lips when he fought that one older boy who assaulted a girl, the fear that he holds when he realized that he took the wrong step, and the courage that he used to have. The fear and courage have turned into ignorance. Unwilling and unbothered, is how he keeps himself alive for the past years, even though his heart says otherwise. Awang has always been his greatest teacher & memory ——— he had taught him even more than both his parents. Sancaka doesn’t believe in the world anymore.

Police sirens have always been his lullaby. It’s two in the morning, and Sancaka had finished his shift earlier and this is one of the rare chances where he was allowed to leave an hour before it actually ends. Walking back to his little apartment feels heavier than before, having heard the poor woman’s scream, calling for help from anyone who passes by. But he _can’t. _There’s enough trouble in his life already, and there’s no plan to add even just a little more on to it.

Sancaka’s feet drag themselves up to the stairs, counting each step to keep his own mind busy, distracting himself from what he has seen earlier. He took the key to his room from his front pocket, and unlocks it slowly. No lights were turned on, and it doesn’t matter. Three years living in the same tiny and cramped apartment made him able to navigate his own furniture, only to occasionally bump his hip on the drawer right in front of the door.

Long day, he thought.

It would’ve been nicer if he had a proper bed instead of a couch that can barely fit the entire length of his height, from head to toe. The rain poured itself on to the city yesterday, for a whole day, so he had left the barred windows and its curtains open when he left for work, in hope of a change of the air. 

\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Sancaka walked out of the shower with a decent-fresh-smelling shirt and yesterday’s pants. After he hanged the towel he had used earlier, the man walked towards his little stove, and boils himself a cup of warm water. People had always complained about how hot Jakarta could be, but they also forgot how cold it could be at night, considering how he could feel the breeze blowing inside through his windows. He’d take the cup in both of his hands, letting the warmth spread on to his palm. He walks back towards the couch and sets the cup on the table. Sancaka then pulled a little string that was hanging from his little lamp on the table to turn it on. A sigh left his lips almost as immediately as the lights got turned on and off again. He’s way too distracted to even begin to distract himself again.

He could’ve helped ; he _knows _that he could’ve stopped and helped that poor lady. He could’ve stopped for ten minutes and scare them off, or he could fight. Even if it has been around twenty years, Sancaka still remembers what has Awang taught him, and it’s not just that one quote that he has been living off for years now. And it’s not like this is the first time he watched chaos happened and did nothing. The city hasn’t been nice to anyone ; robbery, burglary, manslaughter . . . everything had happened at least once. Sancaka reached out for the tv remote that was placed on the other end ( corner ) of the couch, and proceeded to turn the news channel on. To no one’s surprise, it’s still the same ; crimes in the city, poverty, and the government.

Later, he’d take the water cup back in his hands, this time with the intention of drinking it content. Once again, a sigh would leave his lips as he placed the now empty cup back to the table, turn the lamp off, and lay himself on the couch. Sancaka laid his head on the arm rest, as his right arm would be placed on his head, covering both of his eyes.

**9 AM, THE NEXT DAY.**

The loud chattering from outside of his room woke him up once again. Maybe that was an exaggeration, but loud noises have never been the best thing to wake up to. Slowly, he’d open his eyes, as he let a yawn escaped his lips as he does so. One would think that sleeping may ease his thought, but, no. It has gotten worse by each time that passed. Not just the woman, but the city that suffers underneath those with power and authority.

Sancaka got up from the couch, and with his now-wrinkly shirt, he made himself a cup of coffee — a little something to wake himself up. He has never been the one to have a decent meal before eleven ; when he was a kid, it was because there was nothing to eat, no left-overs yet. But now, it’s out of habit. So there he was, standing, facing his window while he’s waiting for the water to boil. Both hands were set on the sides of his stove, as his eyes were set on the bars on his window — but his mind wanders elsewhere, spending so long that he doesn’t realize that the water was hot enough, somehow ignoring the loud noise that the kettle made.

It took him ten seconds to realize what he has done, and it took him less to turn the fire off, and pour the hot water into last night’s empty water cup, that he had poured a sachet of instant coffee earlier, just before he got lost on his own train of thoughts. Hearing the sound of water flowing down to his cup managed to calm his heart rate by at least a few beats. Though, it doesn’t help that much. He brought the coffee cup in his hands, and once again, he’d settle himself down on his couch.

**3 PM, LATER THAT DAY.**

“Sorry,” Said a woman who was holding her son’s hand, as she bumped into Sancaka’s figure when she walked by. Instead of giving the stranger a reassurance that it was okay, Sancaka flashes her a smile —that was more like the twitch of the corner of his lips, without even the effort to let the woman sees.

He walked past the crowded traditional market, still with all the thoughts and doubts in his mind. The loud chattering may have distracted him for a little bit, but a particular voice stood out, waking himself up from his thoughts. He didn’t bother to stop by, but he knew it’s the woman that just moved in. How did he know? Similar voice to the one that he heard early in the morning two days ago before he got back to sleep, and the same figure with the woman who he saw walking inside the apartment complex when he was about to leave for work. Though, he couldn’t care less —— he threw a glance to the crowd, before walking past by. After all, all he wanted was to buy himself a meal for dinner before it turns dark.

Five minutes and two blocks later, he arrived at a small food stall, and ordered himself some food. A glance was thrown at the small tv that was installed on the corner table ; a glance on the highlight of the news, and his curiosity was soon replaced by anger and confusion. There’s always something with the people with money and power —— corruption, money laundry, and enslaving the people who live below the poverty line . He’d then take the food that he had ordered, paid, and immediately went back to his apartment.

**8 PM, THAT NIGHT.**

Sancaka turned his television on again once more, only to see the same news from what he had seen earlier. He’d sit there for a few quiet moments before he heard a distant gunshot noise, followed by the sound of some people screaming, that could be heard coming from the block behind his apartment, around the area where he saw the woman yesterday. This couldn’t happen anymore. He should at least check on it. As he was walking towards the drawer where he put all the ‘junk’ from the factory, he had all the inner conflicts within him.

_It’s not your problem, Sancaka._

When he opened the drawer, Sancaka clenched both of his fists, rethinking his own decision. Something needed to be done, but no one is taking action. He held his breath and started to count from one, in a poor attempt to calm himself down. _Thirteen, fourteen, . . . fifteen. _He emitted a sigh, letting his mind to clear itself, before giving himself a nod and take a piece of black handkerchief, and two rolls of black cloth. Then he’d walk to the mirror that was hanging beside the bathroom door, and look at himself in the eyes, asking every question that he has to himself. Every disagreement was encountered with a solid ‘but’ that contradicts his previous statement. He doesn’t want to, but in all honesty, who does?

Sancaka wrapped the handkerchief on his face after folded it into two, covering his features from the nose down. The cloth would be his gloves, even though he’s still doubting his own decision. _What the hell are you thinking? What are you going to do? Why can’t you just ignore it, like what you’ve been doing for nearly twenty years?_ After all those mental questions, Sancaka found himself walking up the back stairs that led to the rooftop, still wrapping the cloth on his fists.

It’s not even 9 p.m, but the streets weren’t as crowded as before. People are scared, but not for the right reason. Sancaka stood right at the corner of the rooftop, before he perched himself on the narrow corner. His eyes carefully watched every alleyway that was dimly lit, looking for his potential suspects. Right before his eyes reached a particular neighborhood, yet another distant gunshot noise could be heard, a deafening crack of thunder that would drive everyone who heard them away, running with fear and the hope of survival.

Sancaka stood up once again, as he tightened the cloth that was on his wrist, before pulling the handkerchief slightly higher than before.

**The city needs help.**

**And they’re going to find _salvation_.**


	2. The Night Watch.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wasn't prepared. But this is just the beginning.

As so it happens, it was the biggest storm that little Sancaka has ever seen. But his mother had comforted him when the thunders were rambling, cracking the sky, creating such a terrifying sight for a ten year – old kid to see. Jakarta and its rain ; cold, dark, and windy. No matter how many times they tried to close the window, the wind was strong enough to defy the concept of a barrier. The little lamp that the three of them used had been broken since last week, but Sancaka has always forgotten to fix it. Now that it was so dark, barely enough light for anyone to navigate anything more than one and a half meter in front of them, Sancaka has to re-wire the red wires in order to fix the lightbulb. 

Sangaji, his father, knows Sancaka’s fear of thunder and lighting. He decided to stay and accompany his son, while his wife was in the kitchen, cleaning up after their dinner.

“But my friend said that his father doesn’t mind not getting paid enough. As long as there’s money.” Sancaka said, in a tone that made him feel . . . confused about what his friend had said to him.

It was one of the most common occurrences. People in the city will accept however much was offered, as long as they get the money, no matter how sometimes it doesn’t make sense nor acceptable.

“When others don’t want to fight for justice, it doesn’t mean that we have to.” He answered, calmly.

“But why?”

“When we see injustice in front of us and we do nothing about it, we are no longer human.”

The yellow light that shines from the lightbulb on to Sangaji’s face made Sancaka smile. His father looks like his very own personal ray of sunshine that he adores, that he loves so much. And when his father smiled, Sancaka knows that everything is going to be just fine, even though deep down, he knows that it won’t.

“Thank you for fixing the lamp, Sancaka.” Said Sangaji, as he reached a hand out, ruffling his son’s hair in such a loving manner, before placing a kiss on top of his forehead. Soon enough, Sangaji walked towards his bedroom when he heard his wife called him.

Sancaka smiled and waved his hand at his father, feeling so warm and happy, despite the cold wind that managed to find its way in by opening their window by force yet once again. The loud noise of the window hitting the wall beside was enough to make Sancaka turned his head towards the direction of the noise, and not even two seconds after that, a lightning struck the earth, emitting the loud thunder noise that turned his smile into fear.

“Sancaka, please close the window.” Yelled his mother from the other side of their little house.

“But, mom—” Cut Sancaka right after.

“It’s okay, the thunder won’t strike you, and especially not when you’re inside this house.”

After gathering the courage that a ten year – old kid might have, Sancaka dared himself to walk slowly towards the window. The sight of the lightning outside send shivers up his spine, resulting in his steps getting slower. When he finally reached the window by arm – distance, Sancaka immediately [slammed] the window close and lock it, as he ran to his room when the sound of thunder could be heard once more.

* * *

The deafening crack of thunder muffled the sound of fighting right below his feet. As he sees further into the area, he could see that those weren’t government officials — they were merely street thugs, judging by the way they act around each other and the outfit that they were wearing. On the other corner of the block, he could see some older looking men were being pushed ( kicked ) around as they were moving the white boxes from a truck, into what seemed to be a warehouse. When he saw the old man tripped on the thug’s foot, Sancaka almost jumped down, wanting to help him. His calling felt even stronger when he saw that those thugs, instead of helping the old man to get up, decided to land kicks and mock him. Quietly, Sancaka found lower balconies that he can jump on to, and made his way down to the ground.

When the three thugs weren’t paying attention to their surroundings, Sancaka decided to take actions into his own hands. When he felt that he was close enough, Sancaka tapped the shoulders of one of them and immediately throw a punch when the thug turned around to face him. And so it begins, Sancaka’s first fight after twenty years, fighting the thing that has haunted him for so long. A bit rusty, if he had to comment on himself — yet, in his defense, he hasn’t fought with anyone since Awang left with the train.

One by one, he’d ‘take care’ of the three thugs, while at the same time he drives all of them away from the poor old man, so that he can escape. One thug managed to run away before he was finished with the other two, but he didn’t bother to catch him. Seeing how the two were already unconscious on the ground, Sancaka felt a sting on the right side of his stomach. Immediately, his hand would be placed on the spot where he felt the pain. **_Blood_**¸ of course.

A glance would be thrown towards the stack of boxes inside the truck, with a hint of curiosity about what could be delivered to such a shady part of the town. 

**G⠀H⠀A⠀P⠀A⠀R⠀M⠀A**

The name sounds oddly familiar. . . but no, he has to get out of there before someone sees a stranger, dressed in all black with a handkerchief covering half of his face, with a stab wound on his abdomen.

* * *

His apartment wasn’t as close as how it felt when he first got there — maybe it was because he jumped across the roofs, instead of dragging himself back, while stumbling to the nearest wall every three steps. The little observation and fight alone took him hours, realizing that it was past midnight, when his hand landed on the door knob of the back door of his apartment. Even though his hands were wrapped with cloth, the blood stain would stay, and could even be seen on the door knob.

  
His face was getting paler and paler. _Must . . . rest. _Right after Sancaka barged in through the door, he dropped himself on the staircases.

* * *

“Sancaka! Oh, god, what happened to you?” The voice seemed to be yelling at him, with both fear and a hint of anger hidden behind.

“Mom, don’t worry! It’s just a little scratch!”

“A little? **A little?**”

Little Sancaka fell down when he was running away from the bullies. It wasn’t big, and it definitely wouldn’t leave any scar. But he definitely understood why his mother was sick worried. And that, made him feel guilty. Ten minutes in, and his mother wouldn’t stop lecturing him about his injuries and the possible infections that he may get if the wound wasn’t properly cleaned. Sancaka could only nod, as he could barely hear the words that his mother was saying, due to the heavy rain outside. Until . . .

* * *

The lightning flashed and a clap of thunder followed soon after, waking up the previously unconscious man. He woke up with a gasp, as his hands went immediately to his stab wound. _Good God, he’s still here. _After he felt like he has gained the consciousness and strength to get up, Sancaka started to walk up the stairs quietly. One hand was holding the handrail, as the other was still putting the pressure on his wound.

Five minutes felt so long when he took two seconds to walk up just one step. When he finally arrived on his front door, his hands were shaking. Closing the door behind his back, Sancaka walked towards the couch, before once again passing out, with the rain as his lullaby for the night.

**10 AM, THE NEXT DAY**

Who knows better to not to leave an open ( and possibly dirty ) would unattended? Definitely not him. Sancaka struggled to stich his own wound, despite the fact that he knows exactly how to do that. Awang had taught him how to tend his own wounds, from a little scratch, a bruise, until an open wound like the one that he has right now. Maybe he should’ve practiced before, knowing that it might come in handy one day.

A groan left his lips when the scissor cuts the thread. As sloppy as it looks, Sancaka felt a lot better from last night. Slowly, Sancaka got up from his seat, [still] with a hand holding his now freshly-stitched wound, to grab the tv remote on the drawer. As usual, the only channel that he has ever watched ever since he lives here is the news channel. His eyes were immediately drawn towards the highlights of the news:

**MASKED VIGILANTE, **

**TAKING THINGS INTO HIS OWN HANDS.**

** Should this act of "justice" be justified?**


	3. The Kingpin.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The orphan and his orphanages, giving hope to the people who lived in fear. Fear means nothing in his eyes when he knows how to control them — how to control the people by the strings of their own fear.

Forty years ago, the fire burned his house and his family. And now, the same fire burned inside of him. A fire of revenge, of rage. The sound of wood crackling had never been his favorite, even before the incident. No matter how many times his mother had tried to convince him that it sounds peaceful and even able to help her to fall asleep, he had never known how could destruction and peace be in the same sentence. Not until today. Chaos brings a little peace to his soul ; the soul that has been broken, shattered, and burned along with a beautiful memory. Something to fill in the void.

**No one** has called him with his real name.  
**No one** should ever call him with his real name.  
The name was **_dead_**, along with the little boy that bears the name.

* * *

  
**JAKARTA, 9 AM.**

A man, walking into the House of Representation’s building, with a noticeable limp and green tux on him, gathered the looks and glances that were drawn into him almost as immediately as soon as he opened the door. Nothing new. He kept walking and walking, pushing everyone away from his path with only a glance. Perhaps it was because of his look, or maybe . . . the rumors that follow. It doesn’t matter, as long as people still have fear inside of them. Fear, for him, has been the one that keeps him floating above the others. Controlling people’s fear means controlling their minds. And he has thousands under him. He had overcome his fear many years ago, and now, he’s the one who’s controlling the fear of the people around him.

The sound of his own footsteps, along with two of his most – trusted men echoed through the now – silence halls. No one dared to say anything — heck, no one was even brave enough to have their heads up, to keep their gaze for more than one second. It took him thirty years to have a chance to step his own foot in the same building as those with power, with authority.

He learned that he could earn one’s trust with a small amount of payment. He could buy them with just a little kindness — ‘least until they think that they could rely on him, and slowly turn that into dependency, turning that into his subordinates. 

* * *

**THE ORPHANAGE, THIRTY YEARS AGO.**

  
His earliest memory of the damned place was the little fireplace in front of the entrance. It was old and rusty, with big oak trees guarding the front side of the building. His skin no longer aches, but it left a mark . . . a reminder of how fear had taken over him. His walks were slow ; observing . . . watching . . . learning — which resulted in them pushing him to walk faster, despite his limp. By the time they reached the front door, the fear that he thought he’d lost came to wash over him once again.

He knows about the rumors that surrounded the orphanage, and this is where he was about to live. Or, as he thought so. They left him to ‘socialize’ with the other orphans. He saw their fear, and they saw his anger. Soon enough, the men who brought him into this very place left without saying anything.

One month into living in the orphanage, he learned that the rumors were true ; kids were tortured, beaten up, starved, and on the verge of dying in the name of disciplinary actions. The fear that the others feel towards those in control of the orphanage doesn’t get into his mind that easy. He learned how to shift their fear into devotion by giving them the sweet words that they’ve always wanted to hear, by giving them the promise of an escape, by giving them hope.

**THE ORPHANAGE, THIRTY YEARS AGO, 11.39 PM.**

  
He has gathered all sixteen of the orphans in a circle, on the floor of their bedroom. A plan was made, a rather simple one. All they needed was faith in him, and a little hope. They waited for the clock to strike midnight before they marched to the quarters where the employees sleep.

Doors were locked, but they came prepared. Being forced to go out and beg ( and occasionally break into a shop ) has briefed them with more than enough skill to handle all the disadvantages that they had to overcome. A simple lock pick is enough to break into the rusty lock on their door.

Each and every one of them carried something ; a knife, rope, and candles. He will end everyone’s suffering, giving them the upper hand. Tonight, some will pay for what they’ve done. Tonight, there will be bloodshed, but it won’t be from the youth.

Their eyes stare deeply into the eyes of the man who tortured them ; they let him feel the fear that they once had, the fear that he used to use against them. Now, with the upper hand, they’ll take their time, showing how would it be, when fear was treated with hope.

**THE STREETS OF BOGOR, TWENTY YEARS AGO.**

  
There were sixteen of them, and now, there were only four. He had given them their freedom, and they were all grateful that he helped them escaped. Ten years have passed and one by one has left his side, with the promise of their return, whenever he needed their help. He had been spending the last ten years managing his little group of friends, keeping them together — while at the same time, tending the other orphanages in town, whether they had the same experience as him or no.

Little tents, huts, and empty warehouses had been their home for years. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to set himself as the one whom they can trust, to make them think that they could rely on him, and slowly turn that into dependency, turning that into his new family. Two would leave his side, but one would be with him, joining his cause. Each and every one of them was given the freedom to cut the ties to their past, but everybody felt as if they owed their lives to him, so everyone promised to stay in touch.

Years after years, he has become a young man with eyes that were ready to see the world ; the beauty, and the corruption behind it.

He became a parent to the orphans, the guardian for the downtrodden, providing bits of help for those in need, only asking for their loyalty in return.

* * *

**JAKARTA, 10 AM.**

_“There are several things that will need to be rearranged if this is how we’re going to do it. And the cost is not going to be easy to adjust as well.”_  
_“And it’s not going to be cheap. This is certainly not in investment.”_

“You have nothing to worry about that. My foundation will cover everything that we need. I have the pharmacy under my grasp, and all we need is just a signature, and some names to put under my list. They will do exactly as we say.”

There was a pause after the last sentence ; the room went quiet, almost to the point where he could hear the clicking sound from someone’s wristwatch. It was full of doubt, but he has to convince them. By ensuring their safety, money, and their families. There is always time, but it doesn’t mean that every second worth less than the other.

_“This is dangerous.”_  
_“It’s a matter of our resources, too.”_

“Your safety is guaranteed, as long and you are on our side, sir. And we have everything covered.”

_“Give me some more time to think. I will contact you with my decision soon.”_  
_“I’ll get back to you next week.”_

“Thank you, sir. I’m grateful for whatever your decision will be. Here is my card. The phone number will direct you to my own phone.” He said, as he took out a white card with a line of a phone number, and nothing else.

“Thank you, Mr . . .?”

_ **“. . . call me Pengkor.”** _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This series is slightly altered from the original comics and/or movies. Some aspects would be the same, while some others will be slightly different. Timeline would also be altered.


	4. Silent Nights.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sancaka discovered what he thought could be a syndicate. An organized group has been paying some places a visit, and he has to find out everything behind it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This series is slightly altered from the original comics and/or movies. Some aspects would be the same, while some others will be slightly different. Timeline would also be altered.

It’s not a surprise when his wound bleed once more, even after he thought that he had stitched it well. He has never stitched a wound that deep ; everything was little scratches that he got while fixing the machines. But he didn’t have the money to go to the hospital, nor that he wants anyone to know how he ended up getting such a nasty wound like that. It was definitely not the kind of wound that someone who works as a security, that occasionally takes small repair jobs would ever get. All he had in his drawer was just a basic first aid kit box that was given to him when he got the job. And he thought it would be enough to tend the wound that he thought he’d never get. 

Today, he has to get back to his job. It has only been one day since his encounter and the news, but Sancaka was already so worried about it. The public feeds on news, and that’s what the media serves. The news about a masked freak wearing all black, going out fighting people  —— or, at least, that’s what the news was about. There’s no way he’s going to speak up and reveals his true intention [and] identity.

The sky was getting dark — and in a few hours, he has to get back to his actual job, not the one that he volunteered to do ; the job that feeds his mouth, not the curiosity of the public. But the good thing about working in a printing company and its warehouse, he has access to the knowledge of the news before it went to the public eyes. A stack of two-weeks worth of newspaper was placed beside his little television ; two-weeks worth of news that made him change his mind and perspective about living his life.

**22.30 PM**

Sancaka dragged his feed to the warehouse, while carrying a backpack on his back. This time, he took his time to walk and think, hence the thirty minutes spare from the bus stop. He was worried about so many things ; the name on the containers, the news highlight, and the people that he saved. The memory was vivid, and it all felt like both encouragement and discouragement for him to keep doing what he did. It was only one night, and everything was already overwhelming. The more he knows, the more dangerous it gets. Maybe this is what Awang meant when he told him that he should just mind his own business. After all, that’s what kept him safe and sound for the past twenty years. But going against his own calling . . . it simply doesn’t feel like the right thing to do.

Tonight was quiet, not like the night when he went out nor the night before. There were no police on every corner of the streets, nor there were any suspicious activities like the night before. Fifteen minutes was all it takes for Sancaka to get to the warehouse from the bus stop, but instead, he took an extra fifteen minutes to walk around the block and check around the area.

Clear.

A heavy sigh, a mixture of both relief and confusion had left his lips the moment he turned around on a block. There were no tracks of anything regarding whatever was inside the containers that he saw yesterday. The name that he saw on the containers and crates was not something that he remembers seeing with his own eyes. Maybe it was from the radio, maybe it was from the news — he can’t exactly remember where, or when.

Sometimes, he’d stop by a street vendor and buy a drink or a snack — not because he was hungry, but because they are the one who watches everything that happened, day and night. The rumors that some of the street vendors and intels for not just the police, but some other organization has helped him in a way. One or two pieces of information may have slipped, and it’s only up to him to fit it to his puzzle. But tonight, even the streets were . . . fairly empty — this usually happens when something happened the night before, in terms of the hoodlum attacks. But there was no such thing — in the time between his encounter and tonight, nothing had happened.

To avoid suspicions ( of the thought that he might have stopped only to buy from one or two specific vendors ), Sancaka went to the one vendor just by the entrance of his warehouse block and buy a pack of crackers.

“Where are the others, sir?” Sancaka asked, as he picked up the package from the display box, and handed it to the vendor.

“Some said that their wives are sick, or that there are some other family matters.” 

“Oh.” He responded rather shortly. There was nothing much that he can say to a stranger, despite the train of thoughts that are circling in his mind right now. A low ‘thank you’ escaped his lips, as the vendor handed him his change. Quickly, Sancaka shoved the crackers into his side pocket, after he put the change in his wallet. A distant bell sound could be heard coming from the warehouse, telling everyone that it’s the end of the previous shift. Sancaka bid the vendor a polite goodbye, before heading to his workplace.

**1.30 AM**

It has been a rather quiet night at work, with only two people watching over the machines and five people handling the packaging and shipments, it was not as crowded as the earlier shifts. They would take turns to walk around the building and go on a patrol — one would go after another, and they’d take a break to sit down and have some tea and coffee together for a little bit. Like usual, their only source of entertainment was either an old radio that needed to be smacked every few minutes, or a little television that was placed on the table with its bent antenna that needs to be readjusted every time it rains. Earlier, it was cloudy, and everyone thought that it would rain. Despite a few claps of thunder that roared, not a single drop of rain fell to the earth.

Tonight isn’t Sancaka’s turn to make their coffee, so he took that opportunity to read the book that he just bought last week. Quietly, even though Sancaka was reading, he had his ears set on the news station on the tv. For more than half an hour and several pages of his book, he heard the reporter mentioned the incident involving a man in all - black attacking civilians —— but this time, it shows the perspective of the local residents. Carefully, Sancaka listened to every word that the people used to describe him ; some called him a freak, a criminal, and even a ghost. His eyes would turn back and forth from the TV back to the words on his books, to the faces of his colleagues —— watching the reactions of each and every one of them.

_ “Look, someone’s acting hero.” _

_ “Dude! [All] we need is a hero for this damned city and its corruption.” _

_ “By taking matters into his own hands?” _

_ “It’s called justice. Maybe soon he will come for the corruptors.” _

** _“If no one is doing it . . . then who will?”_ **

Right when Sancaka was about to open his mouth to give his own opinion regarding the current topic, the news has changed into a new one. A suspicious group of people caught entering several warehouses wearing the said warehouses uniforms and left after only a few minutes inside. Nothing was stolen — not even a package of cigarettes. The employees and security guards claimed to have no knowledge of them, but since they were wearing the same outfit as theirs, no one bothered to ask about anything. It all happened around three until four in the morning.

There were more discussions coming from his colleague, but this time, Sancaka didn’t bother to join them. Instead, he kept all his thoughts to himself, placing his own puzzle pieces. It all followed a pattern ; they did not target every single warehouse —— all three were the warehouses where they kept food supplies. When it clicked, Sancaka immediately stood up from his seat, and walked towards the entrance. There was a big map that shows the details of Jakarta hanging right behind the table. Sancaka stopped in front of the map, scanned every corner of the city. It only took him a few seconds to find the names of the warehouses that had their break-ins. It had followed a pattern that follows a straight line, starting up North. 

His eyes darted towards the next warehouse according to the previous pattern. Assuming that the pattern still goes on the same way to how it was, Sancaka pulled the sleeve of his left wrist, he looked at his wristwatch ; 2.45. Yet another lightbulb turned on above his head. After several “sorry” and “something happened”s, Sancaka excused himself to leave their own warehouse. Thirty minutes bus ride equals to twenty minutes of roof - leaping. If someone asked where he lived, they’d be surprised if he told them that there is only a fifteen minutes difference between his bus rides and his own shortcuts. 

But twenty years living by Awang’s principle, Sancaka knew that even though he could earn something faster and easier, it doesn’t mean that it is the safest way. His shortcut involves yet another shady part of the town ; it was dark, and the streetlights have been flickering for the past few months. People who walked into such alleys are those who were involved in petty crimes. It was dangerous, even though it would save his time and money. The bus, however, crossed the main streets of the city, and has never been empty. Everyone felt safer that way, including him.

Sancaka quickly made his way back to his apartment. Thoughts were running in his mind as his feet were running through the empty street. He then quietly sneaked into his window that he intentionally left open earlier, knowing that no one would rob anyone in a poor neighborhood. Fifteen minutes, and he managed to slip into his usual black mask and outfit. This time, with extra layers of fabric wrapped around his fists. Precaution.

**3.40 AM**

Sancaka had arrived at the one that he suspected is going to be their next warehouse target. Ten minutes in, and he doubted that he had picked the right warehouse to watch over. There is no sign of them anywhere. The warehouse was located in front of a water tower, where he currently was perching on —— watching and listening to every movement that happened, to every conversation that his ears could catch. After another five minutes, Sancaka heard a truck driving closer to his position only to stop and park inside the warehouse complex. The man jumped from the water tower, down to the rooftop beneath him, to the back of the building, waiting for the group to get out of the truck and walked in.

And he was right ; it wasn’t just a random midnight delivery, but it was the same group of people that entered the warehouses before. Everyone, including the driver, walked out of the truck and entered without any suspicion from the security guard, who may have thought that it would just be a batch of their employees.  ** _Six_ ** .

Sancaka sneaked past the guard who immediately went back to his post after closing the gate. He followed the group into the warehouse, and hides behind the stacks of rice to avoid their line of sight. When he stopped hearing the footsteps, Sancaka turned his head around, and watch them injecting some sort of liquid into the sacks using a syringe. 

Not wanting to waste his time anymore and risks more damage to the supplies, Sancaka came out of his hiding place and immediately put up a fight against the group. The closest one to him was not paying too much attention to the surroundings, so he took that opportunity to postpone the confrontation, and avoid making too much noise in once. Carefully, he made his own steps feel heavier so it would reduce the noise that his footsteps made. Sancaka immediately had an arm placed around the person’s neck and strangle him, while the other one was placed on his mouth to suppress any scream that could attract the attention of the others. When the man started to lose his consciousness, Sancaka dragged his body to a corner, hiding him in the dark.  ** _Five_ ** .

He then walked towards an aisle where there were two people with several glass vials in their hands. Seeing that they were about to throw the vials to the high stacks, Sancaka charged in and knocked the vials midair, just before it managed to land on the sacks. Obviously, they saw him before the glass vials hit the ground and breaks. Sancaka did not expect them to put up (at least) a decent fight against him —— but whoever was hiring them took extra precautions. He fought the two in silence. And it seems as if they, too, don’t want anyone to know about the attack. But it didn’t take him too long to knock one amateur fighter down.  ** _Four_ ** .

The other one was more careful than her colleague. She took a syringe that seemed to be filled with the same liquid that was in the vials, and ran towards him, charging in with the syringe in her hand, ready to hit him with it. But it wasn’t a hard fight against someone who charged in so carelessly.  ** _Three._ **

Sancaka took the vial that was on the floor, and before he could examine it, ( as expected ), the rest of them came to his aisle and started to attack him.  _ Great,  _ he thought,  _ three people with who-knows-what-chemical-liquid-in-their-hands against one.  _ He took a sigh as he turned his body around in such a heavy manner —— right when he was about to take a step forward, a vial was thrown in his direction. After he dodged it, Sancaka had to block an immediate attack from one of them by throwing the punches, while the other charged in from opposite sides. The one that had been staying behind ran towards him in the same manner as the previous woman ; a syringe in his hand, directed towards his face. 

It was a silly move, as he remembered what Awang told him many years ago.  _ Never run towards someone with a weapon on your own hand, especially if you are far from them. It gives them time to think. Don’t let them think, Sancaka.  _ ** _You_ ** _ do the thinking. _

Sancaka did the same move that Awang did to him ; wait until the man got closer to him, grabbed his hand, and had it bent slightly to the back, resulting in him stabbing his own self in his thigh.  ** _Two._ **

Before he could even spare a few seconds to catch his breath, Sancaka received a hit on his back, and when he turned around, he saw one of them holding a suitcase.  _ Oh.  _ Slightly angered by the stupid hit that he took, Sancaka did not think twice to throw a punch towards the man. It did not take him more than three punches right on the temple to knock him out.  ** _One._ **

He wasted no time to get it over with —— anger took over him, and he slipped. He was confused about who they are, what are they doing, and who sent them. The thoughts distracted him for a second, resulting in him receiving a kick on his abdomen. That one knocked him back both from his spots and his consciousness. Few punches were thrown, and he did not find a gap to fight back. A hard punch towards the jaw resulted in him tasting his own blood on his tongue. Sancaka let out a groan as he grabbed the man’s thighs and pushed him several meters back, until the man hits the end of the aisle, until the man hits the wall. He did not get a single chance to ask any questions to any of them. But now, since there’s only one left, Sancaka figured that this may be the only chance of him getting a lead from anyone.

“Who the hell are you?” The man muttered, spewing blood in between each word. “Wait, I’ve seen you—”

“You don’t need to know who am I. Tell me who sent you here, and—” Sancaka paused, as he took one of the vials that were scattered around. “—what are these?”

“What? You want to stop it?” He smirked — and that earned him yet another punch from Sancaka. “It’s too late. Even though this is only the fourth, there are still so many of us, and so many of—”

His words were cut off by the police sirens that seemed to be driving to the warehouse. Not wanting to risk getting caught by them, Sancaka blew another punch to the man’s face, knocking him out for good. He then took the vial, quickly shoved it into his pocket before running away from the crime scene. 

**THE NEXT MORNING.**

Sancaka woke up a little later than usual — the loud noises from outside woke him up. And it’s not like he wasn’t used to waking up to loud noises, but it sounds as if it was happening right outside his door. Slowly, Sancaka got up from his beat-up couch, and walked towards the window beside his door. Outside, he saw a woman arguing with several men who seemed to be threatening her. He recognized the face and the voice of the woman. It took him only a few seconds to connect the dots . 

**Oh.**

**That’s the woman from the market.**


End file.
